


Paranoia

by Quasar



Series: Skew Lines [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dark, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for 'The Real World'; Elizabeth isn't the only one who has trouble leaving the events of Asuras behind her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia

The second night after their return, Rodney didn't go to bed. Instead, he stayed in his lab, poring over his computer. It worked well enough at first; his people knew better than to question the hours he chose to work, unless they were waking him up to deal with some crisis.

Then something nearly unprecedented happened: Elizabeth walked into the lab. "Hello, Rodney. I see you're up late."

Rodney gaped at her. "Well . . . yes. So are you?"

She shrugged dismissively. "I got so much sleep during the day, I think it threw me off."

Rodney snorted. "Right. Coma isn't the same as sleep, you know."

"Now you sound like Carson."

"I may have heard that lecture before," Rodney said with a roll of his eyes.

Elizabeth smiled. "John didn't seem very eager to get to sleep, either."

Rodney twitched. "Sheppard? I thought he was in quarantine."

"He just got out. All the scans showed him nanite-free."

"Oh." Rodney fiddled with his laptop, changing screens too quickly to read anything. "That's good."

Elizabeth looked over his shoulder. "And why are you up so late? Anything interesting and Atlantis-shaking happening down here?"

"Oh. Well." Rodney settled on a screen she wouldn't understand. "I'm trying to go over the, uh, the control code we brought back from, uh --"

"From Asuras?"

He thought his flinch probably wasn't visible. "Yes. Of course, I could only fit a tiny fraction of their programming onto my handheld, but I remember the underlying principles and procedures. It's actually a very elegant programming language. Well, more of an interface or operating system than just a language, really, since it's more complex than --"

"Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted gently and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, and she pulled her hand away with a hurt look which she tried to cover with a laugh. "Carson says I'm clean, too. Not even a little bit contagious."

"No, it's, it's not that," Rodney said, even though it was. "I just -- I guess I'm a little jumpy."

"You look exhausted. Maybe you should get some sleep and come back to this in the morning."

"But I'm nearly done with --"

"You'll work more efficiently when you're properly rested."

Rodney cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Was, ah, Sheppard on his way to bed when you saw him?" He covered his nervousness by starting to shut down his various computers. The handheld he slipped into his pocket.

"I didn't ask, but he must be tired too. Why?"

"Just wondering." Rodney gestured casually at the table in the corner piled with Ancient artifacts. "I was hoping he could turn something on for me, that's all. But it can wait until tomorrow, if he's asleep."

"Then let it wait. You and John should both be getting some sleep."

It finally occurred to him to turn the question back on her. "What about you? You're afraid to go to sleep, aren't you?"

Her lips rippled. "I'm . . . working on it. I'll get help from Carson if it gets too bad. But you're the one whose work is most critical now, so you especially need to take care of yourself. All right?"

"Yes, of course," he said automatically. "See? Heading for my room right now."

There was no one in the corridor outside Sheppard's door, so Rodney pulled out his handheld and activated the scanning functions he had added when he cross-bred the Ancient and Earth technologies. It showed one person in Sheppard's room, right about where the bed should be. Rodney fiddled with the orientation and resolution, but all he could discern was that Sheppard was elongated on top of the bed; he couldn't tell if the man's head was propped up to read a book or watch a movie, much less if his eyes were open. But he could tell something else, he realized, switching functions to check the energy signatures in Sheppard's room. There were no lights or computers on -- only the very faint emission from Sheppard's bedside clock.

The man was in bed, alone, in the dark. That would have to be good enough. Rodney went to his own room and got ready for bed, but he didn't turn the lights down. Instead, he turned on his handheld again and went right back to work reviewing the Asuran code.

He was almost completely sure he was still awake when the door to his room swished open and Sheppard stood there. He came near the bed and smiled at Rodney -- so sweetly, as if he actually cared what Rodney thought and felt. But he didn't.

Rodney tried to move, to speak, but all he managed to do was drop his handheld among the rumpled covers of the bed. He couldn't make any noise beyond a low moan; his body felt as if it was weighted down. _Classic manifestation of Aware Sleep Paralysis,_ one part of his mind said clinically. _But I wasn't asleep!_ a more desperate side of him protested.

"Come on, Rodney," said Sheppard, his eyebrows tented pleadingly. "Let me take care of you."

Rodney began to tremble as Sheppard pushed down first the covers, and then the loose boxers he slept in. His fear was oddly tinged with anticipation, though, and evidently the anticipation was stronger, because his penis pointed straight at the ceiling when the fabric was pulled away.

Sheppard began to jack him slowly, watching Rodney's face with something that looked like affection.

At first Rodney fought against the paralysis, against the sensations, but eventually the waves of insidious pleasure began to overwhelm him. This part was more like a dream (_but I'm not asleep_) with its hazy, total focus on what was happening at his groin. His erection grew harder and harder, until he imagined it crystallizing into degenerate matter like a neutron star, each stimulus reverberating many times through the whole body before being being subsumed in the next, more powerful perturbation.

He looked down and, sure, enough, he saw a crystalline obelisk appearing and disappearing as Sheppard's knowing hands moved up and down. A part of his mind objected that a piece of neutron-degenerate matter that size would have enough mass to sink Atlantis and disrupt the orbit of the planet, but he decided it didn't matter since the neutron-dick was obviously about to go supernova anyway. Sheppard apparently agreed, as he bent to suck the thing into his mouth. Rodney wanted to object, 'Don't eat that, it's bad for you!' but the feeling was too intense and he just groaned.

He felt the core contraction and the seething neutrinos that preceded the explosion, and then he was floating blissfully through space, bathed in warmth from waves and waves of radiation that should have vaporized him in less than a microsecond. _Never thought a supernova could be so peaceful . . ._

He jerked awake. He was alone in his room, with covers and clothes untouched. His penis -- he checked -- was neither hard nor sticky, which was strange after such an erotic dream. If it was a dream.

He groped through the covers for his handheld and tapped into the city systems. They didn't have the power to run the biometric sensors all the time, but he could easily check the power-usage logs. The lights in Sheppard's room had not been turned on in the past hour, and the door had never been opened. Neither had Rodney's door.

So there was his proof: dream or not, it wasn't real. He had thought as much, but it wasn't the same as seeing objective evidence. He pressed his head back against the pillow to think, his teeth clenched so hard they hurt. Then he got out of bed and dressed.

The Ancient scanners in his lab didn't have a fine enough resolution, so he went straight to the infirmary. A nurse tried to stop him, but Rodney claimed he needed to re-calibrate the equipment after what they had learned in the past two days.

He was nearly done with his third scan -- the slowest and most thorough yet -- when Carson appeared, looking rumpled and annoyed. "Rodney, what are ye doin'?"

"Just checking over your scanner, Carson," he said breezily as the grid of green lines reached his throat. "Nothing to worry about."

"In the middle of the bloody night?" Carson objected.

"Well, I didn't know that nurse would wake you up! I know what I'm doing, here; I don't need any help with this."

"But why would ye need to recalibrate in the middle of the night?" Carson insisted.

"I thought I should get it done before, um, before you need the equipment again."

"Och, give over, man, you're a dreadful liar. Just tell me the truth."

Rodney sighed and sat up, glancing over at the screen that showed the results from the scan. Still nothing. "I need to know if I'm carrying any nanites."

"We checked all of ye, as soon as we realized what was wrong with Elizabeth."

"Yes, but those scans might not have been deep enough to catch individual nanites, especially if they had already assimilated some organic material."

Carson scratched his stubble with a doubtful squint. "Well . . . maybe. But I thought Elizabeth was the only one Niam touched in the jumper, after he was reprogrammed."

"I could have -- any of us could have been contaminated earlier. On Asuras." Rodney remembered the Asuran woman's fingers pulling out of his forehead.

"Before they knew ye were going to escape? Why would they do that?"

_Because she got off on it,_ Rodney thought. He remembered the expression on the woman's face: curious in a cool, distant sort of way. "Maybe as some sort of precaution, so they could control us if they ever needed to in the future."

Carson was shaking his head. "It doesn't make sense, Rodney. You've got the results from the scans, and there's nothing. What makes ye think you've got nanites in your head?"

Rodney swallowed hard. "I've been having some strange, um, experiences when I'm asleep, or almost asleep." He was still mostly sure he couldn't have dozed off without noticing, but in the safety of his bed, he might have gone into some kind of suggestible state. Maybe there were just enough nanites to affect his subconscious, but not his conscious mind.

Carson gave him a pitying look. "I think ye'll find those are called _dreams_, Rodney."

"They don't feel like dreams." Mostly. "I've never been able to smell or taste anything in dreams before. I've never --" Rodney cut himself off. "They don't feel like dreams."

"Well, what happens in these . . . experiences?"

"It's like a, a continuation or repeat of what happened when I was, um . . . interrogated, on Asuras."

"And what happened then? Ye didn't include it in your report."

Rodney closed his mouth and shook his head.

Carson sighed. "I wish I could tell ye to talk to Kate Heightmeyer about this, Rodney, but --"

"She went back to Earth for a family emergency," Rodney finished for him.

"Would ye consider talking to Dr. Olvijn?"

"A man?" Rodney snorted. "I've seen dozen of psychiatrists over the years, and men just aren't right for the job."

"Good to know ye're not a chauvinist, Rodney."

"I can't _talk_ to a man."

"Considering that most of what ye say is a distraction from the real issue --"

Rodney stiffened. "Did Kate tell you that?"

"I'm thinking of your normal conversational patterns, Rodney. A man might do a better job keeping ye on track with a particular problem to address."

Rodney just shook his head. "I can't talk to a man."

Carson sighed. "Well then, so much for my next offer, which would be that ye can talk to me anytime."

"Oh! I, uh, thank you, but . . ." Rodney couldn't think what to say. Carson was one of the few people who didn't expect Rodney to be tactful or polite, but even he seemed disappointed sometimes.

"I can give ye some pills to suppress dreams, but those are dangerous to take in the long term. In fact, they won't work in the long term, because your body needs to dream, just as it needs to sleep. Will ye go get some rest now, Rodney? Now that you've seen there are no nanites in your brain?"

Rodney looked at the screen showing the scan results and considered how easily even Ancient technology could miss a single nanite buried inside a cell and built out of the cell's own component material. He nodded slowly, just to get Carson to shut up. He accepted a small cup with two pills in it and left the infirmary. He waited until he was a transporter stop away before dumping the pills.

Teyla found him a few hours later, watching the sun rise through the windows of Heightmeyer's office.

Rodney started when the door opened -- despite multiple cups of coffee, he'd come dangerously close to another suggestible state -- and looked at her suspiciously. "What are you doing here? Did Sheppard send you? Or Carson?"

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "Neither. Dr. Heightmeyer asked me to water her plants while she is gone." She stepped into the small washroom and appeared a moment later with a container of water.

"Why would she do that?" Rodney demanded. "She could have asked one of the botanists to do it, or just had the plants moved to one of the greenhouses."

Teyla bent smoothly over one planter and then another. "As I understand it, these plants often become unhealthy if they are moved. Kate asked me to do it as her friend."

"Oh." Rodney subsided against the back of the couch, but he still watched Teyla closely, half afraid the scene might turn unreal at any moment.

"And why are you here, Dr. McKay?" Teyla asked, rising from the final planter. "Why sit in an empty office at dawn?"

Rodney sighed and looked out at the blush of color across the city and the sky. "I was just . . . imagining what I might tell Kate if she were here. Imagining what she might say."

Teyla frowned thoughtfully and set the empty water dish on an end table. "I am not Kate," she said slowly, sitting on the other couch.

"Yeah, news flash," he muttered.

"I do not have the training given to counselors on your world. But I can listen, if there is anything you wish to share. It will remain confidential."

Rodney looked at her, more tempted by the offer than he would have expected. He'd never felt much of a rapport with Teyla, but he trusted her implicitly with almost anything that didn't involve advanced technology. He thought she trusted him, too, with anything that didn't involve combat. Or diplomacy. Or food.

"Maybe instead of listening, you could tell me something," he said, and then stopped. He really wasn't sure he wanted to ask, except that he had to know. It might be important to understand.

"Yes?" Teyla prompted.

"You and Elizabeth didn't tell us what happened in your interrogations," he said carefully. Teyla's expression closed up, and he scrambled to explain. "It's just, I wondered if the scenarios -- you know, what we experienced while they were in our heads -- I thought maybe it had something to do with our underlying personalities. Or maybe our subconscious expectations of what the Asurans would do to us. Something like that."

"I am not sure I understand what you are saying," Teyla said.

"Well, Ronon ended up fighting hand-to-hand, he said. And Sheppard lived out some kind of wild escape scenario that eventually ended with him sacrificing his life to save everyone. Isn't that just like him? Just like both of them?"

Teyla tilted her head in acknowledgement. "It does seem that personality could play a part there."

"But see, two data points aren't enough to fit a curve. I mean, if I knew what you and Elizabeth experienced . . . not that you have to tell me, or anything . . . "

"Do you not have three data points?" Teyla asked. "You know your own experience."

"But that's the part I'm trying to figure out, you see, using the information about what happened to everyone else. Because it's, um, really disturbing to think maybe I wanted what happened to me in that . . . vision, or whatever you call it."

"I do not think any of us desired what we experienced," said Teyla darkly. "It merely fit into our expectations, how we thought events might turn out."

"That's still kind of sick, though," Rodney said, staring at his hands clasped between his knees. "Did I think that sort of thing was inevitable, or, or probable, or even reasonable?"

There was silence for a long minute. The rising sun moved into a cloud bank, and the city beyond the window turned sullen gray under a sky streaked with rose and peach.

"I dreamed that the Asurans detected my genetic similarity to the Wraith," said Teyla in a flat voice. "They used me to test a new weapon."

Rodney looked up in surprise and met her gaze. For the first time he noticed the puffy bruises under her eyes. Apparently none of them who'd gone to Asuras were sleeping well. "And, do you think --" No, he couldn't ask that.

"Similar fears have appeared in my nightmares before this," Teyla admitted tightly. "But the vision I had when interrogated was far more vivid than any dream I have ever known."

"Yes," Rodney breathed. "That's it exactly. Mine was, um . . . sexual." He had to look away from Teyla, back at his clenched hands. "It was something I thought I wanted, for a long time. And at first it, it was -- but then it turned into something awful. I should have known it couldn't be real, but . . . "

"And now you fear that you secretly desire pain?" Teyla asked.

"Or maybe I think I deserve it. Or I think that would be the only way I can have . . . what I thought I wanted."

"Why would you deserve pain? Do you feel you should be punished for something?"

"Of course not! Well, maybe a little, when I think about --" _Duranda,_ he was going to say, but that ache was dull and distant. Instead, an image flashed into his mind of Sheppard, smiling sweetly at Rodney as he sorted dirty clothes. "Oh my god."

The attentive, affectionate smile Sheppard wore in the Asuran vision and the creepy sex dreams was the same one he'd had under the influence of Lucius' potion. Rodney dropped his face into his hands, feeling the heat in his cheeks. When the potion worked better than expected, he had debated for a minute or two about taking advantage of Sheppard, persuading him that he really wanted to hop into bed with Rodney. Not that Rodney would ever have gone through with it, but the idea had featured in a fantasy or two since then --

Until he found himself in a cell with a drugged and very horny Sheppard, and it all turned sour. The would-be biter bit. Did he feel he should be punished, indeed.

"I'll never be able to sleep again," he moaned into his palms.

"You are having difficulty sleeping?" Teyla asked.

"We all are," he mumbled.

"Do you fear a recurrence of the vision in your dreams?"

He raised his head. "Fear it? It's already happened -- twice! The second time, I'd swear I wasn't even asleep. And these aren't normal dreams -- they're too vivid for that. Not exactly as vivid as the interrogation, or what happened to Elizabeth, but still . . ."

Teyla leaned forward intently. "You fear you are being influenced. By nanites?"

"I can't think what else it could be! But nothing shows up on a scan, even at maximum resolution. Carson's half convinced I'm crazy. And he might be right. I just don't know what to think anymore!"

"Have you tried an EMP on yourself?" Teyla asked. She didn't seem to think he was crazy, and that calmed him a little.

He shook his head. "If there are nanites in my brain, and they don't show up on scans, that means they've either assimilated too much organic matter, or they're fully integrated into my cells, or both. At best, an EMP would do nothing. At worst, it could kill me along with them. Or, if the nanites are only in my brain, it might just leave me brain-dead, which is really --"

"Did Dr. Beckett not say that Elizabeth's immune system was capable of destroying the nanites?"

Rodney stilled. "Yes. Yes, he did. In fact, that's what worked in the end. We just had to get her conscious and subconscious -- and her immune system -- to recognize them as an enemy!" Then he frowned. The principle was simple enough, but how to apply it to his own case?

Teyla saw his puzzlement. "I believe it comes to the same thing, regardless of whether these visions rise from your own mind or from some lingering influence of the Asurans."

"What does it come down to?"

"You must let yourself believe that punishment is inappropriate."

Rodney sagged back against the couch. "Great, thanks, any other helpful advice?"

"Consider it, Dr. McKay -- Rodney. I do not know how you believe you have transgressed, but would not apology or atonement make more sense than punishment? Are those not more common responses, in your culture?"

He swallowed. "I tried to apologize . . ." But that was for Duranda. He hadn't really tried so hard after using Lucius's potion; he'd mostly just made excuses and kept to himself until it all blew over. "I don't know if that would work," he said weakly.

Teyla eyed him as if she thought he might be avoiding some unpleasant task. "Then perhaps you should try Dr. Weir's approach -- denying that what you see in your vision is real."

"I've been denying it! And I'd really rather not wait until I'm in the middle of another vision just to deny it again."

Teyla sighed. "I am sorry, Rodney. This is all I can think of to suggest. Either remove the significance of . . . whatever happens in your visions, or deny that they are real at all. It worked for Dr. Weir with the nanites, and I think it would also work even if the visions come from . . . "

"A crazed mind?"

"A very complex mind," she corrected gently. "All human minds are complex."

"Hmm. Mine more than most." Then he looked at her more closely, replaying her subtle inflection. "So does it work for you? Are you having repeat visions, too?"

Her mouth tightened, and she glanced aside, lifting a hand to one of the plants she had just watered. "I have been troubled by dreams. I thought they were no more than that. It did not occur to me this might be some foreign influence at work, until now." She turned her eyes back to him and said firmly, "But if it is the doing of the Asurans, either through nanites or some other method, that simply makes it more urgent that we fight back. And Dr. Weir's experience tells us the best way to fight is by holding to what we know is true, and real. I know I am not a Wraith, and will not become one or ally myself with them." A muscle twitched in her cheek, and Rodney wondered if she was still bothered by the failed alliance with Michael, even though she had advised against it. "I must hold to that."

He met her gaze and nodded. Her intensity and personal investment were more compelling than Heightmeyer's cool distance. "Hold to what we know is real," he repeated slowly. "I guess . . . I could try that."

Teyla gave him a solemn smile. "Please let me know if you are successful," she said.

He nodded. "And, uh, I'd like to know about your dreams, too. I mean, if they go away or not." He considered a moment, not sure what else to say. "You, uh, you make a pretty good, you know, counselor. Or whatever." He was trying to formulate a joke about her coloring versus Heightmeyer's, but it was bound to come out sounding like an insult. So he just closed his mouth.

Teyla took his awkwardness in stride. "This conversation has been most helpful for me, also." She stood and retrieved the little water bucket from a shaft of reflected sunlight, and that seemed to be the end of the conversation.

Rodney followed his stomach to the mess hall, still musing over his talk with Teyla. He had only taken one muffin when he caught sight of Sheppard hunched over a bowl of something porridgy. Rodney left the food line and walked slowly in his direction.

Sheppard looked up with puffy, bloodshot eyes. When Rodney didn't move after several seconds, he prodded, "Planning to sit down sometime this century?"

Rodney cleared his throat and set his tray next to Sheppard's, but didn't pull out the chair just yet.

Sheppard frowned. "You usually have a bigger breakfast, Rodney. Like, at least three more cups of coffee than that. You feeling all right?"

"I have to apologize," Rodney blurted.

Sheppard looked around. "Who to?"

"To whom," he corrected automatically. "I -- I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Rodney, I'm used to you correcting my grammar."

"No, dammit! I --" Rodney yanked the chair back from the table, sat down, and stole a gulp of Sheppard's coffee.

"Hey!"

"I'll get you another. After I apologize. To you." Rodney took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." There, that sounded a little better.

Sheppard's eyes cut to one side, then the other. "So . . . I'm guessing this isn't about stealing my coffee?"

"Oh, for --" Rodney was starting to remember why he'd thought it would be a good idea to drug Sheppard in the first place. He took a firm grip on his temper. "I'm sorry for drugging you. Well, technically, I drugged myself, but you were the one who was affected by it. And I shouldn't have done that, so I'm apologizing."

Sheppard still wouldn't look at him; instead, he peered under the table. "Is there a hidden camera around here or something?"

"No, I'm serious." Rodney tried to imagine what would sound sincere. "I put our friendship and, and -- and your trust in me at risk, and I'm sorry for that. Can I stop saying I'm sorry yet? Do you believe me? I mean, you don't have to forgive me or anything, I just . . . I had to say --"

"You're sorry, okay, yeah, I get it." Sheppard ran a hand over his already-wild hair and frowned into his porridge.

"Right. So." Rodney stood up. "I'll go get you that coffee now." Uncertainly, he picked up his tray.

Sheppard grabbed the edge of the tray. "No, wait. Rodney, what's this really about? Tell me the truth."

Rodney swallowed hard and checked to see if anyone was listening. Slowly, he sank back in the chair. "I . . . I've been having dreams. It's sort of about -- well, not really _about_, but it's related to -- that incident. When I drugged you. I, I took away your control, and I know you hate that. And I know how it felt, being under the influence of that potion. I shouldn't have done it, and now I'm -- I'm paying for it, okay?"

"In your dreams," Sheppard said slowly.

"Yes. And I want them to stop, and I thought maybe, maybe if I resolved this thing with you -- I mean, I don't know if you can forgive me, or whatever, but --"

"Rodney, stop it. You're forgiven already, okay? All you had to do was ask."

Rodney stared. "I am? I mean, you do? You forgive me?"

"Sure. It's not like you made me do anything really bad or anything. Although --" He made a face. "You could wash your socks a little more often."

"Don't, please!" Rodney held up a hand. "Just, just don't joke about it, okay?"

"These dreams have you really spooked, huh?"

"Well, you would be too, if --" Rodney cut himself off with an effort. "Yes, I guess you could put it that way."

Sheppard toyed with his spoon, standing it up in the center of the porridge bowl and watching it tip over. "Is this related to what happened on Asuras?"

"What?" Rodney realized his voice had risen and tried to bring it down again. "Why would you think that?"

"No reason. I've just noticed that, well, some other members of the team are having bad dreams too."

"Other members like you, you mean." Rodney leaned into Sheppard's personal space. "Well listen, Colonel Kamikaze, you just tell those dreams of yours that we're not going to let you sacrifice yourself. With or without a flip of the coin, we'll find another way to do it. You got that?"

Sheppard was leaning away from him, looking baffled. "Uh . . . yeah. Sure. I got it."

"Remember that when you go to bed. And if you still have trouble, talk to Teyla about it. Now, I have to go, um . . . work on something." Rodney grabbed his muffin and hurried off before Sheppard could grab him again. He was in the transporter before he remembered he owed Sheppard a coffee.

He went back to his quarters, commanded the windows to darken, and brushed his teeth just as if it were bedtime. He stared searchingly into the reflective patch of wall that served as a mirror.

"Okay, so I've apologized," he said to his reflection. "And that went all right. Atonement -- well, that wouldn't really work in this case. And anyway, Sheppard forgives me, so it isn't really necessary, is it? So that just leaves the direct confrontation and denial. Piece of cake, right?" He swallowed. "Right."

He shucked off his outer clothes and crawled into bed, rearranging the covers around himself. This shouldn't take long, he thought. He just had to close his eyes and relax a little. _It would be easier if I had Sheppard standing here encouraging me to fight it,_ he thought, and then _No, it really wouldn't._

His eyes popped open at the sound of the door sliding aside. Sheppard stood silhouetted against the brightly lit corridor.

Rodney stared, trying to make out his expression. What if this was the real Sheppard, come to follow up on their conversation?

Sheppard stepped forward, and the door closed behind him. As his eyes adapted, Rodney saw the sweet, gentle smile that made his stomach roil.

"You're not really Sheppard," he said firmly. And at least he could speak, this time, but he still couldn't move.

"Come on, Rodney," Sheppard cajoled. "Let me take care of you."

"No!" said Rodney. It was supposed to be firm, but it came out more like desperate. "You're not real. You can't touch me."

Sheppard loomed over him, lifting a knee onto the bed. "Of course I'm real, buddy." He grabbed Rodney's wrists and pressed them down to either side, where metal shackles fastened around them.

"There! See? That --" Rodney jerked at the shackles. "That is not real. There are absolutely no manacles on my bed." He could move his body now, but not very far with Sheppard straddling his knees.

"I know you want it," Sheppard purred. "I'll send my puddlejumper right through your gate." He bent down for a deep kiss.

Shuddering and sick, Rodney wrenched his head aside. "No! I do not want it. I'm not enjoying it." Denial didn't seem to be working so well; this was turning out way too much like the interrogation scenario and he was on the verge of panic. Then he remembered. "And I don't deserve it, either! Sheppard forgave me. He said what I did to him wasn't that bad. And even if he couldn't forgive me, he wouldn't want me punished. Not like this."

Not-Really-Sheppard sat back on Rodney's knees. "You can't resist, Rodney. You've wanted this for a long time."

"Well, I don't want it now," Rodney said harshly. "I most certainly can resist, and deny, and, and --" He was running out of words, so he closed his eyes. It was hard; he wanted to know what Sheppard might be doing, on the other side of his eyelids. But he forced himself to concentrate on his bed and what it really looked like, especially its complete lack of shackles or restraints of any kind. _Hold to what we know is real,_ he remembered Teyla saying. Then he lifted his hands and fastened them on Sheppard's arms. "This is not real," he said as he opened his eyes, starting to believe this might actually work.

The Asuran woman wearing Sheppard's jacket stared down at him calmly. Her face looked almost Native American, perfect and symmetrical with eyes as dark and cold as space. "It is more real than you know, Dr. McKay," she said. "You cannot resist."

"Yes -- I -- can!" he pressed out through gritted teeth, and pushed her away from him, hard. She flew off the end of the bed and disappeared in a shower of particles.

Rodney sat up in bed, panting. After a moment of concentration, his mental command brought the lights up and made the windows less opaque. "I did it," he said to himself in amazement. "I did it!"

He was tempted to go to the infirmary and scan to see what had changed in his brain, but he knew the equipment didn't work that way. Instead, he tracked down Teyla in the hallway outside the training gyms. "It worked!" he told her. "It really worked!"

She tilted her head. "I am glad. But you have not had much time for sleep. Are you certain the dreams will not return?"

"Oh, I'm sure," he said. "I could just tell. It worked! Try it and you'll see." He looked around. "We have to tell Sheppard and Ronon. I know they've been having bad dreams, too --"

Teyla placed a hand on his shoulder. "I will find them and tell them what we have learned. In the meantime, Dr. Weir has been looking for you. Something about an important project you were working on?"

"Oh. Yes." Rodney deflated a little, refocusing from work unexpectedly accomplished to work still waiting to be done. "The Asuran code. I wonder if we can figure out how their nanites affect human consciousness -- hmmm," he said as possibilities whirled through his brain.

Teyla smiled at him. "I will tell Dr. Weir you are working on it, then?"

"Oh yes. I'm definitely working on it." Rodney was halfway down the hall before he realized he hadn't said any kind of goodbye. He turned to find her watching him solemnly. "I'll be, um, in my lab," he said, and started off again. Maybe, he mused, he had a little rapport with Teyla after all. Just a little.


End file.
